Mothereffing Christmas
by downmoon
Summary: It's Christmastime in Mordland!


This goes along with a bigger story I'm working on, as well as along with Battlefield, if you read it. I forgot to say that I am going to be publishing several one-shots as I write the main storyline. The one-shots are like little side adventures/stories branching out from the main story.

Day 1

Christmas was everybody's secretly- favorite holiday in Mordhaus. No matter how much the boys talked about hating the holiday, they loved it deep down inside. The boys, after Toki's whining insistence for Secret Santa, and with Charles supervising to make sure nobody "cheated", all drew names December 1st. Pickles uncurled the slip of paper he drew and smiled to himself at the name. He slipped the paper into his pocket, protecting it from prying eyes and curious fingers (. Toki). After all the slips had been drawn, the boys wandered off to their respective areas of Mordhaus to ponder their names.

Day 10

Toki sat on the edge of the steel countertop, swinging his legs to the rhythm of the music playing from a CD player Pickles had found and brought into the kitchen with him. Pickles was currently in the midst of a very serious project- mixing up a batch of Christmas booze. That didn't stop him from belting out lyrics at the top of his lungs, with Toki's light, clear voice as his backup singer.

"In the midnight hour!" Drum solo with the wooden spoons in Pickles' hands.

"She cry MORE, MORE, MORES!"

"What the fuck are you guys listening to?" Nathan's grumble easily cut through all the noise Toki and Pickles were making. In his surprise, Toki's hand caught the side of a glass jar and flung it off the counter as he whipped around, startled smile on his face. Pickles took the frontman's arrival in stride, and danced towards him, wooden spoon now a microphone. All those years behind a drum kit had done nothing to quell Pickles' charisma as a front man as he roared out the lyrics, possibly mentally disturbing Nathan. At the look of murderous intent glinting in Nathan's eyes, Pickles backed off, grinning broadly, hands held up in surrender. He opened a cupboard door and dug out three mismatched cups, filling them and handing them to his bandmates.

"What is it?" Nathan growled, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

"Christmas spirit, mothersfucker!"

"Cheers doods!"

Day 17

Pickles really shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to see his mom, amongst the other mothers, on Mordhaus' doorstep December 17th. But he was, and it sucked. Standing in a t-shirt, in the bitter-cold courtyard, Pickles was assaulted by hugs and kisses from Molly.

"Oh, my baby, I heaven't seen you in so lahng! Look at you! What are you doin' in a t-shirt? Baby, it's December, and you're in a t-shirt . C'mahn, I raised you with more sense n' theat!"

He had forgotten how much his mother talked. He didn't even have to bother saying anything, just let his mother do the talking for the both of them. Klokateers gathered the suitcases as Dethklok and their mothers went inside.

Hours later, Pickles still couldn't escape. The mothers had insisted on a big family dinner with their sons, which turned into a big discussion/argument (much to the chagrin of the boys) over Christmas decorations. Toki had already ordered a huge tree put up and decorated under Dethklok's noses, but that was nothing compared to what the mothers had in store for "this dark old dungeon", as Rose Explosion put it. Pickles was almost home free when dinner was finished, scooting out of his chair and about to make a break for the door when Molly's voice caught his ear.

"Pickles, where're you goin'? Aren'tcha gonna walk yer ol' mahm up to her room?"

And so, Pickles found himself walking down the hall, up some stairs and down some more halls as his mother yapped away steadily, his arm looped firmly in hers.

"Hanestly Pickles, this place you got here is way too big! What're you gonna do when it's time to settle down and start a family?"

"Ma, I ain't gettin' married for a lahng time."

"But what if you meet a girl? Baby, you can't rule out things like _marriage!_" Pickles sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand, begging the powers that be for a drink out of thin air. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the text on the screen: _Come to your room after, ja?_ He smirked.

"I ain't rulin' it out, jest now…now". _ Or ever._ "Why're you so concerned about me gettin' _married_ anyway?"

Molly looked at her son as if the answer was completely obvious.

"Grandkids, honey!"

Pickles had the patience of a saint when it came to everybody else but his mom. He _did_ have a fair relationship with her, better than the rest of Dethklok's , but she was the type of woman who wore you down so quickly you didn't even realize why you were so pissed off hours later. He couldn't hide his exasperated half-smile as he opened the door to a guest bedroom, _nice and far away from my room_.

"You're a piece a' work, y'know that, Ma? Psh…grandkids"

Molly smiled brightly at her son, kissing his cheek and wishing him goodnight, weaseling out a promise of bonding time with him for the next day. The second her door closed, Pickles bolted for the stairs, anxious to get back to his room and to the waiting Toki.

He could practically _feel_ how hot and bothered Toki had been throughout the day, shooting occasional lust-filled looks to Pickles as he murmured in soft Norwegian to his marble-like mother. Through his growing intimate knowledge of Toki, Pickles had learned months ago that Toki hated sudden change and surprise, things that interrupted his carefully laid daily plans. Change annoyed him, sending him into a spiral of hyperactivity and pent-up frustration and Pickles' favorite, _fucking_ animal-like lust. Have Toki's mother appear at the Haus, along with everybody else's, turn their day into chaos and BAM. Pickles was about to get fucking laid.

Pickles _almost_ tore the door off its hinges getting into his bedroom. Only a lamp was turned on, but he could hear the sound of the shower running, then turning off, in his private bathroom. He tugged the long-sleeved shirt his mother had forced him to wear after he lecture about t-shirts in the dead of winter, turning around at the sound of the bathroom door creaking open. Toki, _beautiful, pent- upToki, _stood in the doorway, with a towel around his waist, water-moist skin shining in the glow of the lamp.

"Hi. You was fast."

Pickles couldn't stop the snort of sarcastic laughter, nor the spread of a lecherous grin across his face.

"Look what I have to come back to."

Toki's eyes positively _smoldered _with lust, turned from icy gray to that stormy sea color Pickles loved. He grunted as Toki forced him down upon the bed, kissing him viciously, his guitar-roughened fingertips digging into Pickles' pale, freckly shoulders. Toki's wet hair left a smooth trail of slick skin on Pickles' chest, making him shiver at the weird sensation it burned into his skin. He felt Toki fumble with his jeans, blindly unbuckling the belt and buttonand tugging them down with one hand as his other roamed up and down Pickles' sides. Pickles arched upwards as his jeans came down, _accidentally_ grinding into the body looming over him, a mixture between a grunt and growl humming in Toki's throat at the contact. He felt his boxers coming off as he pushed Toki's towel down, baring them both to the warmth of each others' bodies.

In one movement, Toki pulled Pickles up and slammed him against the headboard, fumbled to turn off the light and grab the lube from the nightstand drawer. Moonlight rushed into the room, illuminating the two bodies writhing against each other. Toki ravaged Pickles' neck, biting hard enough to draw blood. He couldn't control the strangled cry that tore from his throat, gripping Toki's powerful shoulders and digging his nails into the soft flesh. He felt Toki's lube-slicked fingers probing him gently, first one, then another as he lessened his frantic love-biting, choosing instead to softly kiss his way back to Pickles lips. Pickles' hand slid up Toki's neck, weaving into his wet hair as he was kissed softly, chastely, innocently. He felt Toki's hand leave his body at the same instant his lips left Pickles' mouth. Lube in one hand, he prepared himself, looking straight into Pickles' heart. The Norwegian's eyes glittered like gems in the moonlight, burning with emotion and love and lust. He slid into Pickles, lips parted, breaths coming in short gasps as he iron-gripped Pickles' hip. With Toki's head resting in the crook of his neck, Pickles could hear every pleasure-laced hitch of breath as he slid deeper in. That weird sensation of pain-pleasure flooded his senses as he tightened his grip of Toki's damp hair, willing him to move with a wriggle of his hips, wrapping his legs around Toki's waist.

Toki gasped at the movement, grinding his head into Pickles' neck. He was always on sensory overload when he fucked Pickles; he was always short of breath and his mind could never decide between gasping or screaming. He heard Pickles moan as he began to thrust faster, losing himself in the sensations. One of his weird gasp-screams tore involuntarily from his throat as his instincts totally took over. His hand slid down to Pickles' thigh, pushing against it as he thrust upward. Pleasure shook him, making his mind go numb and his lips move in Norwegian babble.

"å Gud... jævla helvete." A sharp inhalation. "Ja…" His babbling ceased as Pickles' lips found his, moaning in the back of his throat, then a mangled noise of surprise as Pickles pushed backwards, switching positions and making the pleasure so much more _intense._ They both screamed, grunted, growled, the intensity taking them by surprise. The square of moonlight resting across the bed illuminated Toki's body, making his eyes glint as the light caught them. Toki's chest was heaving, dark hair matted across his forehead as he babbled, moaned, inhaled. He gritted his teeth as he came, moan grinding into an almost painful growl as he came, gripping Pickles' thighs. Toki's face alone, twisted into the agony of orgasm, would have been enough to send Pickles to the same pleasure, even if he weren't already teetering on the brink. He came hard, stars bursting behind his eyelids and unable to vocalize more than a soft, stuttering grunt. Toki had barely the strength to roll Pickles off of him and pull out. He was trembling all over from breathing so hard. Pickles had to grope through his nightstand drawers, searching for his inhaler, to ease the shortness of breath he was suffering from. Toki settled against his chest as he lay down, legs tangled in the sheets and one arm resting across Pickles' stomach.

"Fuckin' hell Toki." He felt Toki's lips curl into a smile against his shoulder, breath coming in hot bursts. "Let's do this more often".

Day 25

Dethklok sat sullenly around the dining room table, surrounded by the near-incessant chatter of their mothers. The boys were sick to _death_ of their mothers. Mordhaus was covered in tinsel and snowflakes and candy canes and Christmas lights, making the Haus way too cheerful and bright. Even Toki, who loved Christmas more than all of the boys combined, hated the constant glow and noise. The boys were too anxious for their mothers to leave later that afternoon, after being put through a giant family dinner and the humiliation of present-opening and sweater-wearing. The boys were almost home-free; Jean-Pierre was bringing out dessert.

"You know what Nathan? We never get a chance to see you boys, and we haven't celebrated together as a family in such a long time. Me and the girls were thinking that we'd stay 'til New Year's! What do you think of that honey? It'll be great, won't it?"

Nathan was rendered speechless by his mother's declaration as a new wave of chattering rose from the ladies. Skwisgaar, on the edge of a nervous breakdown from the presence of his mom _and_ the prospect of more time with his mother, abruptly rose from his seat and stalked out of the dining room. Seeing a chance of escape as the ladies were way too preoccupied with _their_ conversations, Pickles motioned to Toki with his head, nodding it in the direction Skwisgaar had stomped off to, attracting the attentions of Murderface and Nathan and repeating the gesture. Silently the boys rose from their seats and took off, almost running as the threshold of the dining room was crossed.

"What the FUCK!" Nathan bellowed as soon as he was out of earshot of the dining room.

"Dood, I know. I'm gonna lose my freakin' mind if my mahn does not git off my back!" Pickles tapped a cigarette out of the crushed package, offering them around to the group. Only Toki plucked one out of the pack; he had started picking up on Pickles' bad habits since the two had begun their secret fuck-a-thons.

"Don't they have anything better to do than _impozshe_ on us! And then schtay _longer?_" Murderface had held himself together remarkably well ever since his grandmother had shown up, but the burden of knowing she would be staying longer was enough to send his screaming bloody murder.

"We shoulds just have our own fuckings Christmas". Toki looked close to tears until Nathan slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Toki. Fucking brilliant."

"Dood, we'll jest pile inta a couple a' rooms, git some fuckin' booze, skin outta these _fuckin'_ sweaters n' lock our mahms out. It's perfect!"

"Ands de Secret Santas!" Toki cheered considerably at the brilliance of his own unintentional plan, eyes growing wide like a big kid with a cigarette in his hand.

"Someone go get Skwisgaar, we'll get all out shit together and meet upstairs, in the, uh…lounge. WE have a lounge, right?"

"Yesch we do. Chrischt Nathan, you'd think you'd know what rooms are in your own fucking housche!"

And so the company parted, each to his own room, gathering up no less than four bottles of liquor each and Christmas-wrapped Secret Santa gifts. Hours later, paper and ribbons scattered about the floor, Dethklok was wasted. Shit-faced, more appropriately. Black t-shirts and long sleeved shirts abounded (no Christmas sweaters ALLOWED, Nathan had commanded) as the boys argued in slurs and Scandinavian over the importance of candy canes in the holiday season. Secret Santa gifts had been exchanged, all except for one lone member who was just now realizing the gyp.

"Wheres de fucks is _my_ Santed Santa?" Unsurprisingly, Toki's English made even _less_ sense as he grew progressively inebriated. Pickles nearly choked on his swallow of vodka, mentally kicking himself for forgetting.

"Well, Jeezuz dood, come wit' me n' I'll show you!"

The whole band staggered down the hall, Pickles leading the way with his arm firmly looped around Toki's shoulders. He brought them to one of the smaller lounge/living rooms of the 'Haus, the one filled with all of his exotic drums and lesser used instruments. He had been covering Toki's eyes for a good 20 steps or so to increase the dramatic unveiling of the "Santed Santa" gift. He dragged stumbling Toki into the room, the band pressing in tight behind the two. With a flourish equal to that of a magician's (although decidedly more drunk and nearly throwing him off balance with the force he put behind it), Pickles whipped his hand off Toki's face. A soft little utterance of realization was the only noise that broke the long moment of silence as Toki marveled at his gift. In a carefully cleared side of the room stood a pristine, antique upright piano. Pickles had heard enough of Toki fooling around on the keyboard to know that he was a damn good piano player, and that he loved it. Oddly enough, the band didn't own anything more than the keyboard Toki used for recording stuff on their records. The second he had seen Toki's name on his Secret Santa slip, Pickles knew what to get him.

"Pickle…" Toki's voice wasn't above a whisper.

"Goes play us a tunes, you crappy dildos!" Skwisgaar's liquor-husky voice cut through the silence like a knife. With a sharp shove, he sent Toki staggering into the room, towards the piano as the band pushed in behind him. They crowded around it as Toki sat down at the bench, then bolted upright, screeching at them not to put their bottles on the top of the piano. He ran his long fingers up and down the keys, getting used to the feel of the cold ivory before he launched into a Christmas carol that they all ended up singing different lyrics to. Pickles watched him, heart completely melting when Toki looked up, eyes shining with alcohol and all the words he couldn't say. Even with their moms there, Christmas had been pretty fucking good.


End file.
